


Hallmark After Dark

by tysonrunningfox



Series: Hallmark Christmas [2]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hallmark Christmas AU, Hiccstrid - Freeform, Modern AU, So sue me, and now i'm done with the formula they get to, anyway hiccstrid was thinking of boning, hallmark doesn't contractually obligate them not to, happy new year five days late, i think that's illegal, the title was the working title of my document and i thought it was funny, those conventionally attractive white people must be thinking about boning at some level right?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22149529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tysonrunningfox/pseuds/tysonrunningfox
Summary: After Once Upon a Christmas Wedding at Haddock Manor fulfilled the Hallmark Christmas movie formula, Hiccup and Astrid realized that they, in fact, are adults who would like to act on all those holiday feelings.  If you haven't read Once Upon a Christmas Wedding at Haddock Manor, I don't know how much sense this will make.
Relationships: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III/Astrid Hofferson
Series: Hallmark Christmas [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594252
Comments: 5
Kudos: 71





	Hallmark After Dark

Time. 

Time sounded great. Time made Astrid smile and lace her fingers together on the back of Hiccup’s neck, eyes sparkling as she looked at him like she couldn’t believe he was real. Time made her laugh, sheepish as she showed him a contraband phone hidden under the blankets on the antique bed, flights to San Diego bright on the screen. 

“What would you have done?” She asked, a shade of something sheepish crossing her still flushed face as she pushed her hair behind her ear, “if I’d just shown up.” 

“Asked how you got my address,” he laughed, not taking the question seriously until she bit her lip, frowning slightly, face finally open. “What do you mean?” 

“I wouldn’t have had the money for a couple of weeks.” She tugged the hair at the nape of his neck. “No dramatic New Year’s Declaration of love.” 

Maybe it was because she didn’t say she loved him or because she insinuated that his feelings might have disappeared in a couple of weeks, but either way it made him honest. 

“We wouldn’t have made it to the bedroom.” 

And then she blushed, eyes widening, mouth parting slightly as the way she was looking at him shifted from hesitant to _curious_. He took his hand off of her just long enough to shut the door before kissing her again, nudging her towards the guest bed. And her hands were on his chest, warm and surprised, the high-pitched hum in the back of her throat resonating in his blood as her knees hit the edge of the mattress. 

“Hiccup,” she muttered against his lips, hands in his hair even as she stayed on her feet. “Your dad just saw you walk up here.” 

“I was a jerk, I left.” He kissed down her neck, pulling her sweater collar to the side to nose at her shoulder. “He’ll figure we’ll be fighting for longer.” He felt seventeen and giddy, sneaking around his childhood home, hand on Astrid’s waist, “It’ll explain any loud sounds. Any screaming.” 

“Hiccup,” she pulled back from his kiss with a shocked, giddy whisper, lips full and kiss bruised. 

“I meant me screaming,” he kissed the corner of her mouth, hand on her warm lower back under her sweater. “Obviously.” 

“I have to clean up,” she laughed, hand on his jaw, vaguely restraining, “I have to make sure people get home ok.” Her finger hooked through his beltloop, pulling him closer, just barely. “I have to burn the karaoke machine.” Her voice dipped, the kind of tone he would have called ‘husky’ in the moment, if he’d had any blood left in his head to find the word. “And then we can go back to my empty apartment where we don’t have to traumatize your dad.” 

“Are you kidding?” He laughed, “he’ll be thrilled.” 

“I’ve got to clean,” she pushed him back with carefully firm hands on his shoulders, eyes flicking down to the front of his pants before she swallowed hard and practically scurried out of the room. 

Time was good until he had to _wait_. Then, time became the enemy. 

Enemy number two, right behind the endless pile of dishes he volunteered to do, because standing in a dark, supposedly haunted room thinking about Astrid sounds like a good way to piss off a ghost doomed to celibacy by untimely death. Then again, maybe the ghost would take pity on the way that the pile of dishes that does, in fact, literally grow as Astrid flits around the lowest floor of the house, finding glasses and plates seemingly growing out of the walls. When the counter is mostly covered with dishes laid out on a towel to dry, Astrid sets one more in the sink before picking up a dishtowel and expediting the drying. 

“Finally got it all,” she says, consonants too crisp, and he recognizes it as awkwardness when her elbow bumps his and she flushes again. “Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.” She says stiffly, and no, it’s not awkwardness, it’s determination to cling to the admirable professionalism that has her washing dishes at nearly two in the morning. 

It’s endearing. He wants to lift her onto the counter with soapy hands and see what it would take to break it. 

His dad’s snore echoes from the upstairs hallway and Astrid shakes her head, laughing under her breath and giving him an absolutely scalding little ‘I told you so’ look that nearly makes him drop the plate he’s washing. He can’t say he’s ever been turned on by washing dishes with someone before, or by the face they make when his dad snores, but it’s Astrid and this is only adding to how much she radiates _home_. How instantly relieved he was when she kissed him. How his heart swelled when she asked him to stay, like he might be lucky enough for her to need him too. 

“No problem,” he answers honestly even as he curses the seconds passing with only half his attention on her. 

“If I do this now, I don’t have to do it in the morning,” her tone slips slightly, faux casual as her teeth dig into her lip and she glances at him with another loaded look in her eye. 

“Right.” He sets the last plate directly in her waiting hand, watching her dry it and trying to keep a neutral expression. 

Historically, Hiccup is as bad at patience as he is good at picking the right moment. Upstairs felt like a moment, but now he’s wondering if it would have just been a rushed addendum to his declaration, and when he turns off the sink, the house is so quiet that he’s shocked Astrid doesn’t comment on his heartbeat. 

Plus, if he’s learned anything in the last couple of weeks it’s that Astrid isn’t about a moment, she’s eternal to him in a way he can’t explain, everything he felt at seventeen pounding along in easy tandem with everything new he’s feeling now. 

“If the dishes are clean, your dad will usually box them up for me, I can get them in a couple of days.” She wipes her palms on her jeans, like she might be nervous, “so, my place?” Something about his expression makes her cock her head and grin, smile re-opening her expression as the last dregs of her professionalism slip away. “Unless you’re too tired from your flight, I understand if you want to call it a night…”

“I can drive,” he offers, both to be accommodating and also because he doesn’t know what he’ll do with his hands if he’s just biding his time in the passenger seat. “I’m wide awake, not—flights are invigorating. Really.” 

“I’ll drive. I’d rather not start out the year trapped in a snowbank,” she teases. And he remembers the cabin, after their truce within a truce, the air clearing between them as they joked about the past. Her in his shirt. Unzipping her dress and not being able to touch her. “Even if it might be more fun this time.” 

He grabs her shoulders and starts marching her backwards towards the front door, tripping over the edge of the rug when he tries to kiss her simultaneously and ignoring her laugh when it’s more of a nose joust. She fumbles with the top button of his shirt as she pushes him back far enough for her to look him in the eyes, half-stern. 

“Let me get my coat,” she rolls her eyes but seems uncharacteristically smug as she leads the way out to her car. “Oh, shit, do you have a bag or something?” She asks as she’s climbing into the front seat and he rubs the back of his neck. 

“No, actually, I didn’t really have time to pack if I was going to make midnight,” he admits, sheepish even as the shut car doors leave them finally, utterly alone. “I can have my assistant overnight some stuff tomorrow, probably, it’s not a big deal.” 

“Right,” she focuses on the icy parking lot until she’s on the two-lane state road heading towards down, then she risks glancing at him, teasing smile pulling at her lips again, “so your flight was invigorating, huh?” 

Teasing him, still teasing him. 

And there’s something miraculous about it. Something new that makes his hands itch to find everything else new about her. She always used to be so serious, flirting with her eyebrows set into a sincere line, blue eyes ocean deep, but this is different. 

“In-flight yoga really got me reset and ready to face the harrowing, high-speed drive to Berk.” 

“Right,” she slows down like she’s illustrating black ice. 

“Nothing is wrong with my driving.” He wants to put his hand on hers but she’s shifting again, downshifting, turning right over an icy berm formed from many slow melting snows, and her headlights illuminate a duplex, half of it decorated with Christmas lights long gone dark. “Is this your place? Not that—I mean, I thought it was further—”

“When you said we wouldn’t make it to the bed,” she parks and leans a little towards him, eyes glowing in the moonlight reflecting off of the snow, “what exactly did you mean and will any plans be impacted by the fact that there are a bunch of heavy, precariously stacked boxes in the entryway?” 

“That’s—I didn’t—” He sighs and it’s his turn to feel awkward, that urge to run making him wish that he drove for a split second until he catches her expression. Smug again, almost smirking, and the love that struck him when he found himself alone in his sterile apartment overwhelms as he reaches out to cup her chin and turn her face towards him. “You’re teasing me.” 

“Little bit.” She kisses his palm. “You said you loved me,” she whispers, the first smidge of doubt since she kissed him flitting across her face. 

“I said I’m in love with you,” he leans in, forehead against hers, breathing in her shaky exhale. “There’s a difference.” He kisses her, barely brushing his lips across hers, goosebumps rising along his arms under his coat when she reaches up to grip his wrist, fingers so tight they almost hurt. 

“Hiccup,” she says his name like a warning, a last chance to back out before something happens that’s impossible to take back. 

“I love you. And I’m in love with you,” his thumb drags across her cheek, willing the mischief from a couple minutes ago back into it. 

“Since when?” 

“Since before I knew how to admit it to myself.” 

Her breath catches and she kisses him, teeth grazing his lower lip as she leans halfway over the center console. Everything in him wants to drag her onto his lap, and he wishes they’d taken his rental with the bigger backseats. 

“And what are you going to do?” She snorts when she pulls back reluctantly, eyes mystified, hand landing on his knee and sliding halfway up his thigh, testing the waters. “Come home and run the tree farm?” 

“I think the first thing on my agenda is to get the house internet so that I can start figuring things out.” He knows the truth will go further with her than a fanciful half-lie but he’s still relieved when she grins. 

“I got your dad satellite internet last year.” 

“I love you,” he whispers, meaning it more every time, “can we go inside now?” His skin is on fire as she jokingly weighs the option, squinting one eye and leaning her cheek against his hand. “I won’t disturb the boxes.” 

“My bedroom is the second door on the left. If you hit the bathroom, you haven’t gone far enough.” 

“I’ll stick by you,” he leans in, brushing his nose over hers, kissing her gently and shivering at her light moan in the otherwise silent car. 

There are, in fact, a bunch of boxes in the entry way, almost blocking the front door in a way that Hiccup probably would have tripped over if Astrid weren’t holding his hand. She points out the kitchen and the hallway and shrugs her coat off onto the floor before grabbing the back of his neck and tugging his lips down to hers. 

His shoulder bumps a picture frame on the hallway wall, and she breaks the kiss long enough to reach out and steady it. It’s a diploma of some kind, maybe, or a certificate, and he might be curious enough about her life to stop and look at it if she didn’t pull her sweater over her head and drop it on the floor as well. The white tank top she had underneath it does very little to disguise the shape of her and he’s not back in that cabin this time, not inhibited by the awkward, respectful distance their fight forced between them. 

His hands on her waist guide her the rest of the way back into her room and she slides her hands under his coat to push it off of his shoulders. He doesn’t quite know where this clothes-flinging Astrid came from, but he’s ok with it. More than ok with it, because it gets her cold fingers on his chest sooner as she unbuttons his shirt. 

She pauses when it’s fully open, eyes darting down to examine him in the moonlight as her hands slide under the shoulders of his shirt before it joins his coat on the floor. 

“What?” He whispers, shivering as her fingertip finds the trail of hair leading down to his belt. 

“Nothing,” she kisses him, cold finger tracing his ribs, “you’re just…different, I guess.” 

He remembers a decade ago, fumbling under the covers, biting his lip and searching out some kind of reaction from her nervous expression. He remembers how she lit up when he did something right, demanding that he do that again, kissing him sloppily with her knees clinging to his waist. 

“You are too,” he bites his lip when she reaches for his belt, fingers still cool against his stomach, “I don’t remember the clothes flinging.” He points behind him into the hallway with one hand as the other lands on her shoulder, thumb on her collarbone, everything in him fighting between slowing down or speeding up. Between savoring or pouncing on the moment. 

But it’s not a moment. It’s the _first_ moment. 

“Oh,” she blushes, barely visible in the moonlight, “I was so organized all day, I just couldn’t take it anymore.” 

“Me either,” he nods seriously as she lets him pull her tank top off and tossing it over his shoulder. “I like it.” 

And then she’s smiling and pulling him to sit on the bed next to her and there’s no reason to keep talking. Not with her soft skin against his, her hands dragging down his back. He kisses down her throat, lingering on her collarbone as his hands slide up her ribs. She shivers, hand in his hair tugging him back up to her face. 

“Boots.” She bends down to untie her boot, her back bare and face perilously close to his inner thigh and he swallows hard, catching her shoulder and pushing her back on the bed. 

“Could not care less,” he breathes as he kisses down her neck, palming at her chest, fingers tweaking her nipple in the way he remembers made her gasp. She squeaks now, hands fisting in his hair as her back arches off of the bed. 

“Going to get mud all over the bed.” Her complaint is half-moan and half-hearted as he pauses to suck her other nipple, her fingernails digging into his scalp. “Hiccup,” she tugs on his hair until he reluctantly looks up at her, eyes darting between her face and the distractingly shiny skin of her chest. 

Suddenly, his zipper is in the running for top ten torture devices he’s ever heard of and he shifts, trying to relieve the pressure. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” She leans up on an elbow and he gets distracted, kissing along her collarbone until she catches his chin and tilts his face back up towards her. “Give me a second to get the rest of the way naked before we ruin my sheets.” 

“Fuck,” He leans down towards her, wincing again when the motion makes him aware of his zipper again. 

“What’s wrong?”

“No. Nothing,” he cuts her off when she sits up, hand on his shoulder in a comforting move that’s confusing but no less welcome when she’s shirtless and it’s familiar as it is new, and the zipper tries to bite, “it’s—my pants are starting to cause a problem—”

“Oh—”

“Zipper’s crooked or something—” He tries to adjust it and she laughs under her breath, a welcome, welcoming sound that doesn’t help his problem. “Is this funny to you?” 

“Yes,” she kisses his cheek, eyes a little smokier as she does, thumb smoothing over a freckle on his shoulder. “You’re still you.” 

“You too.” 

She smiles and his heart throbs. So does his dick. He winces. 

“Take off your pants,” she stands up, kicking off her boots, practically flinging them into the hallway, before unbuttoning her jeans and pushing them down along with her underwear. He must flinch, because she laughs again. “Seriously, take off your pants before you hurt something.” 

“Technically the zipper would be hurting,” he flops back, popping the button on his pants and getting the zipper open with a careful tug that releases a deep sigh of relief. 

“Can’t have that,” she grabs his hand and urges him to sit up, drawing him along with leading kisses. 

She helps him get undressed. Mostly by huddling close, arms around his neck, distracting him from kicking his right boot off. He leans on her shoulder to shove his pants down before uncuffing his leg and letting the boot fall on the floor with it. She raises an eyebrow, plucking the waistband of his underwear against his hips and he looks down at her before nodding and flushing slightly when she shoves them down. 

She looks. 

Analytically, even. Cocking her head, biting her lip as she looks back up at him. 

“I think you’ll live,” she swallows, cold fingertips trailing down his length before her warmer palm wraps around it and twists. His breath catches in his throat and her lips twitch into a barely there smile that she tries to turn back into a serious expression. 

He kisses her and totters slightly, off balance, because that feels too good and her waist is firm under goosebumps that make him think of that cabin. The cabin where she didn’t kiss him. And they’re moving towards the bed, her bed, her warm bed covered in soft blankets that couldn’t be further from the cold, lonely bed he woke up in this morning. 

He pulls back with a groan when her hand twists just right, “just a second.” 

“Hmm?” She nudges him to sit on the edge of the bed before straddling his knees. 

“Oh God,” he’d be embarrassed at the sound of his practical whine when she grinds against him if it weren’t sucking all the air from his body. “I woke up alone.” He kisses her chest, one hand on her shoulder blades, the other dipping between her legs, and his heart jolts when she moans and arches into him. “In San Diego—”

She cuts him off with a kiss, rocking against his hand and pushing him back onto the mattress. And her hair is tickling his shoulders and when he lets himself feel how wet she is, he’s so hard it hurts just thinking about her after this long. Having it be so close and so real. 

“And,” her voice dips husky as she leans back just enough to look at him, hovering exactly over where he wants her, “and you told me you love me.” 

She looks raw, tired, desperate, alive. Skeptical in a way that stings even as she’s looking at him like she can barely afford herself an arms-length of distance. Her thumb strokes over his chest and he nods, more than a little dumbstruck and hoping it comes across as a compliment. 

“I do.” He rests his hands on her hips, squeezing slightly, holding her to him. She looks different than she used to, just enough to place this in a different space and time than what they used to be. They aren’t sneaking around, aren’t making out with the lights on so that his dad doesn’t get suspicious about the actual amount of homework that’s getting done.

“Ready?” She asks, voice slow as she wraps her hand around him to hold him steady and there’s a million fantasies he tried to squelch at thirty-five thousand feet that make him want to slow her down, to make this perfect like the end of a fairytale. To take his time, to take her apart bit by bit and prove that he learned something in the past decade, that it means something about where they are now. 

But this is real and impossible enough already and he thinks if he doesn’t have her soon, he’ll pass out. 

He nods, “Fuck, Astrid I—” 

She sits, enveloping him in one long, too quick motion that makes his mouth fall open as his fingertips dig into her skin. Her hand lands on his chest and curls as she moves, her head lolling towards her shoulder as she bites her lip. 

“Missed you,” he bucks up into her, momentarily glad for being able to brace his right foot against the floor when she moans, hand braced on his shoulder as she grinds down against him, feeling him out, the concept of finding a rhythm teasing at the edges of his focus. 

“You too,” she breathes a faint laugh and it makes her impossibly tighter, especially as he bucks into her again, earning a choked off groan. She starts to move in earnest then, fast, purposeful strokes that make his head spin, and he props himself up on an arm, kissing across her chest to distract himself from the pressure building in the pit of his stomach. 

His teeth graze her breast when her rhythm stutters slightly and she swears under her breath, pulling his head up to kiss her, tongue tangling sloppily with his as limbs start to tingle, sensation condensing too fast. 

“Slow down,” he whispers against her jaw, surprised by the low, rough sound of his own voice as he sits up more fully, hands on her hips to settle her down against him. “Or this is going to be over way too soon.” 

Her disappointed whine echoes in his pounding pulse and he closes his eyes, forehead on her shoulder as he exhales sharply. 

“You can’t just say that we wouldn’t have made it to a bed if I’d visited you and then expect me to be patient.” Only Astrid could infuse that level of authentic irritation into her voice as she’s squirming on top of him, one hand snaking down his chest to rub between her legs. She bites her lip, grinding down on him as much as his grip on her hips allows and he bites the inside of his cheek to focus as her knuckles brush repeatedly against the sensitive skin of his lower stomach. 

“That got you?” He breathes, glad when his voice doesn’t crack. “I would have figured, you know, the confession of love would have mattered more.” He reaches down to nudge her hand out of the way, grinning to himself when she whimpers at his thumb in just the right spot. 

“It does,” she insists, both arms around his neck now as she presses her forehead against his, hips twitching along with his touches. “It’s just…I like that you thought about this.” She bucks demonstratively against him, biting her lip when he starts rubbing faster, pressure building again. 

“Of course I thought about it.” He presses up into her as she starts to move again, more grinding forward than up and down, her breath intermingled with moans and coming quicker against his neck. “God, Astrid, when I had to unzip your dress but couldn’t touch you? I thought about nothing other than how different things would be if I’d…” He trails off, breath coming hard, molten metal re-invading his fingers and toes. 

“If you’d what?” She bites his shoulder, just hard enough to make him twitch as his hand rubs faster, her rhythm falling apart beneath his touch. 

“Tossed you on that bed and—”

She gets there, all at once, forehead on his shoulder, his choked-out name on her lips as her body stiffens, toes curling against his thighs. And then she’s pliant, warm and kissing his neck as he plants his hands on her hips and drives up into her, the last few thrusts until he’s falling over the edge too, holding her down to him like if he’s stubborn enough, they can meld together permanently. 

“Fuck,” he flops backwards as soon as his muscles unlock, leaving him boneless, and she follows, head on his shoulder even as she makes no effort to dislodge where they’re intertwined. 

The room is cold but the space between their chests is warm enough to be sticky, the contrast drawing goosebumps out of overstimulated skin. 

“That was…” She hums contentedly instead of finding the words and he brushes damp hair out of her face with shaking fingers. 

“Yeah.” He agrees, fingertips tickling her back for a moment as his heart slows down and he tries to build up motivation to get under the covers. “Astrid?” He asks after a minute, her breathing so even he half wonders if she’s fallen asleep.

“Hmm?” She props herself up to look at him and he can’t help his eyes darting down to her bare chest, moving slowly with deep, satisfied breaths. 

“I just…did you think about it? Or about me, I guess, like…” He gestures at where they’re still joined and blushes, hoping that the moonlight is dim enough that she won’t catch it. “It’s fine if you didn’t—”

“Of course, I did,” she rolls her eyes and smiles, “it was infuriating. You come back after years, sporting a stupid haircut and those tight suit pants, looking…grown up.” She laughs, climbing off of him with clumsy, probably asleep feet and flopping onto the bed beside him, head on his arm. “The way you kept looking at me at the cabin,” she licks her kiss bruised lips, “let’s just say there was an internal debate about how deep a truce could go.” 

His heart swells, content in a way he didn’t expect when she kisses him on the forehead on her way to sit up. Easy affection, given just as easily, and she uses his knee to stand up on still shaky knees. 

“I’m going to go get cleaned up, be right back.” 

And as he gets under her soft, well-worn sheets, sticking to the left side of the bed and listening to the muted sound of the sink on the other side of the wall, he’s glad the holiday romance is over, glad that it left room for real life to start. 


End file.
